


The Love You Deserve

by hazelnewtbrett



Category: Good Omens
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Singing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 06:29:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19762480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelnewtbrett/pseuds/hazelnewtbrett
Summary: In which Crowley has a nightmare and Aziraphale tries to help.





	The Love You Deserve

no no no they can't have…

no no Aziraphale no it's hot it's so hot where is he

angel?

no it's not-no no, a dream-was it?

was it a dream?

i

i don't know it was too real too real it's hot no no no

i'm at home

then...where is he

call him I need to call him pick up

Pick up pick up

PICK UP angel

nonono it can't have been real it was just a nightmare

PICK UP YOUR FUCKING PHONE AZIRAPHALE

i have to check i need to see him where is he can't find him no no stop thinking about it stop

stop thinking of the flames

STOP STOP THINKING STOP

glasses i-i’ve got the glasses need to get in the car FUCK

no no call him try again try again no answer fuck

please be sleeping angel please Zira

please

don't don't don't DONT DON'T THINK ABOUT IT DONT

my fingers hurt

gripping the wheel too hard 

they  _ tried  _ burning him

it didn't work

stop it stop stop stop he's fine stop

they wouldn't try it again they wouldn't

but

why wasn't he at home where is he where is he

angel PLEASE god I need to go faster

the bookshop he's probably at the bookshop it's fine  _ he's _ fine

he's going to be in the shop and he'll be fine

flames

they burned him

hellfire

the last time I was in the shop

flames

just discorporated that time but what if

stop no no no FUCK he's fine he's fine stop stop

almost there I can see it he'll be alright

my angel's alright he has to be

has to has to

why didn't you answer your phone Aziraphale

* * *

The screeching sound outside the bookshop was what roused Aziraphale first, followed swiftly by a slam. He had barely rubbed the blurriness out of his vision when a flash of movement by the entryway caught his attention.

He'd been up late, there'd been things to clean and organize. He could just miracle it away, but he rather enjoyed rearranging the books. Crowley often got annoyed with him, ‘making things difficult on purpose,’ he would say. Maybe that's why the demon was now barreling towards him, having some sort of fit.

Aziraphale’s legs were suddenly barricaded into his armchair by Crowley, who fell to his knees in front of him. He pulled the angel forward by the front of his vest, glasses askew and cheeks splotchy and tear-stained. Through the haze of waking, he could hear Crowley speaking, but he was not yet conscious enough to make out the words. 

“AZIRAPHALE, ANSWER ME!”

“W-what, I-”

“WHY DIDN'T YOU COME HOME?” Crowley shouted, shaking the fists balled up in the angel‘s like a punctuation on each word. “WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? ARE YOU-”

“I-I’ve just been here, I was cleaning, must have fallen asleep! I-” The angel was so confused. He couldn't read Crowley's expression, there was too much there. Aziraphale reached for his glasses, maybe if he could see…

The demons eyes were overflowing with hot, panicked tears, his gaze darting all over Aziraphale’s body. Crowley’s hands shook wildly and his lips quivered, dark and indented by his sharp teeth.

“Crowley, what on  _ Earth?! _ ” Aziraphale sat forward as much as he could with his love draped across his lap. “What's happened?!”

“DAMNIT, ANGEL” Crowley barked as he stood suddenly, rubbing the tears from his face with a rougher touch than necessary. “I saw...they…the-” A shaky breath hissed through Crowley's teeth as he slumped back to the ground, pressing his back against one of the bookshelves.

“What, what did you see?” Aziraphale stood and made his way to where he had balled himself up. Crowley's legs were folded into his chest, arms around his knees, and his head hung low. But even so tightly wound up, the angel could see he was shaking. “Darling…”

“DON'T.” Crowley snapped. Aziraphale reached out to touch him, but Crowley flinched when he made contact, and the angel quickly recoiled. “They b-” The demon shook his head, pain engraved on his face, “burned you, hellfire, but it was  _ you _ , this time, not me, you were tied up and..s-screaming”

“Crowley, I'm alright, look at me.” Aziraphale replied, frantic, desperate, confused. He took the demon's hands into his own, rubbing his thumbs across the knuckles. “You can feel me can't you? I'm right here, love.”

Leaning forward, the angel placed a gentle kiss on one of his temples. A sudden wave of sobs pushed their way out of Crowley and he resisted the urge to envelope him completely. He felt utterly helpless watching him bury his face in the tangle of limbs. The tingle of cinnamon and heat lingered on his lips.

If he could just get Crowley to look at him, touch him, kiss him. Aziraphale was fine, he was here, he could save him, if Crowley would let him for once. It was just a nightmare...he just needed to look at him…

“I’m alright…” Aziraphale prodded again, to no avail. He pulled the demon's hands and placed the palms on his chest, under his vest and against the thin fabric of his shirt. “I'm breathing, I'm here, you must feel that?”

* * *

i’m sorry angel this is ridiculous i’m a  _ fucking  _ idiot fucking stupid idiot

it must have been a dream

how stupid can you be fuck FUCK

what must he think of me

acting like a human child this is ridiculous

my lips are bleeding

fuck

idiot

let them bleed

i'm sorry Aziraphale i'm sorry sorry I'll leave i’m sorry stupid stupid

no no no don't call me darling i don't deserve it please Aziraphale

angel

my angel

why are you here why are you letting me act like this i’m sorry i'm sorry

he's so warm

his hands are so soft is-

is this even real

is he here

i'm sorry i shouldn't have come i’m sorry

he's breathing right

that's what i’m feeling right?

i'm here so

i cant

i don't know

so warm

what if

it's not real, i cant

i cant open my eyes what if

i want to see him

love him

am I awake or is this

another nightmare

more torture

i deserve it

take him away give him back

take him give him

takehimgivehim

no no

he's here isn't he

he doesn't deserve this

so warm

i love him i love him i love him

he's talking to me but i cant

am i talking?

i love you

warm

want to get

closer

please Angel

i'm sorry

* * *

Aziraphale winced as he listened to Crowley's panicked ramblings, like hot lashes against his ears. He tried talking to him, saying his name close enough to his skin that he should have been able to hear him and feel his breath. He held the demon's fingers against his neck, so he could feel his pulse surging. A pulse that was now quickening with every minute that passed with Crowley in this state.

He hadn't been able to understand much. Just fragments, bits of phrases like “torture,” “love him,” and “warm.”

He was still trembling, but not as violently as he has been when he first ran in. Crowley had stopped time for him once, Aziraphale had threatened to never talk to him again, and his love had bent the laws of reality around his will to ensure that never came to fruition.

And now Aziraphale couldn't even help him recover from a bad dream. What sort of angel couldn't cure a nightmare? Even so...he would continue to try. Crowley would come out of this on his own eventually, but this was agony for them both.

Crowley had built himself a fortress out of gangly limbs and Aziraphale couldn't figure out a way in. Any cracks in the walls would bring the whole structure down if he picked at them too long. He held one of the demon's hands to his lips and kissed the back of each finger once, long and lingering. Aziraphale had hoped that maybe this time the kisses would work. But the castle gates remained unopened, despite the tingle of spice that Crowley left on his lips and tongue.

He needed to figure out  _ something.  _ Aziraphale hummed to himself, he did that often. It was a sort of...self-soothing technique. New tunes, old songs he loved. As he made melodies in his throat, he felt Crowley shift slightly. The demon turned his head, his angular nose peeking out from beneath the spray of wild red hair.

Aziraphale adored Crowley’s hair. He'd been ever so slightly devastated when he had cut it short. He could spend hours and hours running his fingers through the crimson locks. And he would. But first….

The humming had seemed to help. Angels couldn't dance, but they were all unquestionably good singers.

Crowley liked modern music far more than Aziraphale did. But the angel had picked up on a few tunes. He racked his brain for something that might work. He gazed down at his beloved as he pondered. He was always beautiful, even now. When he was feeling clear headed and calm, Aziraphale would remind him. He would place a kiss and run his fingertips across every part of Crowley that he found stunning and he would not stop until every centimeter of skin had been touched, until he had memorized the way every part of him tasted.

Later. They had time for that later. For now, he wrapped Crowley up, despite the demon stiffening in protest. Normally, if he didn't want to be touched...that would be fine. But it wasn't that he didn't  _ want  _ it. Every kiss the angel had placed was met with protestations of being undeserving, every kind word parried with rebukes and self-depreciations. 

He didn't need to earn or deserve anything. Aziraphale loved him. He wasn't sure exactly when it had begun, but sometimes it was all he could remember. And he would love Crowley until there wasn't anything left. And probably after that too.

Aziraphale loved Crowley because he did. That was enough.

His mind found a song, he'd seen it once in a film. He couldn't remember the name of the movie but Audrey Hepburn had sung it. Such a sweet girl. Her dear Pippen was a lovely little thing. He missed them both. Aziraphale hummed the melody a bit, testing the waters as he brushed his fingertips over the snake tattooed on Crowley's jawline. The demon softened slightly, his palms pressing against Aziraphale's chest of their own accord now.

_ Moon river, wider than a mile _

_ I'm crossing you in style, some day _

_ Oh dream maker, you heart breaker, _

_ Wherever you're going, I'm going your way _

Crowley let out a deep sigh, the first even breath he'd managed all night. Aziraphale's voice cut through the air like a bell, clear and effervescent.

_ Two drifters off to see the world _

_ There's such a lot of world to see _

_ We're after the same rainbow’s end _

_ Waiting round the bend _

_ My huckleberry friend, moon river, and me _

* * *

singing

he never sings in my dreams

there's never music at all

so

i’m awake and

he's safe

he's safe

he's here with me

with me

i don't deserve him

i want him

he's so beautiful

humans adore comparing lovely things to stars

i know every star by name

they came from my hands before

before i fell

but never

if i live to see every inch and moment of eternity

could i make something as

beautiful

as

him

“i love you, angel” i say

“i’m sorry” i say

can i get even closer? merge us into one?

i’m damn sure going to try

“i love you crowley” he says

“you've done nothing wrong” he says

he wouldn't lie

can he be wrong

of course he can

he thought the velvet fucking underground was b-bop

fuck i love him

* * *

Crowley shook again, but when Aziraphale looked down at him, there was a smile despite a few lingering tears. He stepped inside the castle gates and kissed away the wet trails on his cheeks. Trembling with silent laughter, Crowley reached all the way around Aziraphale’s waist and held him with a vice-like grip.

“What's so funny, darling?” He asked, giving into temptation and carding his fingers through Crowley’s hair. The demon buried his face in his chest and chuckled.

“Nothing, I...I was just thinking about the Velvet Underground.”

“Oh, good Lord” They sat in silence for a moment, sharing warmth on the floor of the bookshop.

“I...I really am sorry.” His words were muffled almost completely by the fabric of Aziraphale's vest. “I don't know what came over me.” 

The angel struggled for a response. He wanted to reassure him, be able to explain what happened and promise that it never would again. He could make no such promises, but there were things he  _ could _ do. 

Aziraphale grasped the demon’s shoulders gently, and pushed him back so that he was leaning against the bookshelves, so that he could see his eyes. He had beautiful eyes. Crowley gazed back at him, full of warmth and longing, 6000 years worth of it. 

“I love you” he whispered, fingertips gliding across his jawline, barely enough to be felt.

“Huh.” A short breath, not quite a laugh or a huff, just...disbelief. “I don't...I don't know why. I don't deser-”

“Stop it.” Aziraphale cut him off with a hand against his lips. “I love you. You don't need to deserve anything, that's not what this is about.” ‘Deep breaths,’ the angel reminded himself. “And thank the almighty for that because if that  _ were _ the case, I wouldn't deserve you.” 

How many times had Crowley saved him, walked on consecrated ground for him, stopped time, stopped the apocalypse, interfered with the ineffable plan, given him so much and asked for nothing back? “Please, just...just let me give you this.”

Crowley reached for his face and silently wiped away a tear that he didn't know he'd let out.

“I can't promise you won't have more nightmares, but I  _ will _ be here to sing for you when you wake up. If you'll have me.” As soon as the last bit of that sentence had left his lips, Crowley was on them, kissing Aziraphale with a wild fierceness. He felt the demon's hands press against either side of his face as their mouths collided in the frantic kiss. But something about it felt...off.

“Darling…” Aziraphale whispered, pulling away just enough for room to breathe, but Crowley chased him, his face bearing a pained expression. This rush of touch felt desperate and distracting. As he was about to break the contact again, the demon did so first. He quickly raised a hand to cover his mouth in an attempt to hide his expression but they were too close for that. He was crying again.

“I'm sorry, I think…” Crowley started, “I think I'm just-” A choked sort of laugh cut him off, and Aziraphale pulled him into his chest again. If he could spend every moment kissing Crowley, he would, but not like this. He didn't know how long it would take to convince his beloved that there was nothing for him to prove. But he would try until he succeeded.

He was so tired, it was obvious. He just needed to rest, and maybe there was something he could do to assuage the nightmares.

“No apologies, my dear.” Aziraphale whispered to him before standing. Crowley gazed up at him, looking slightly dazed, but he took the angel’s hand when it was offered. He pulled him up and began to lead him towards the sitting area, where the principality had been sleeping when all this began. That seemed like hours ago now.

“Sit.” He motioned toward the sofa with his free hand, but Crowley just stared at him quizzically. “ _ Sit.”  _ Aziraphale insisted, “I'm just going to grab something for you, I'll be right back.”

He lowered onto the sofa slowly, but never relinquished his grip. His eyebrows pitched upward like the glue that held him together at the cracks was about to walk away.

“It's alright, I promise.” He placed a kiss like a seal on each of Crowley’s knuckles. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips as they made brushed against his warm skin. “Cinnamon, why do you taste of cinnamon?”

Crowley balked at that, his mouth hanging open slightly and Aziraphale beamed a sly smile in his direction. Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, he turned and headed for the kitchenette at the back of the shop, releasing Crowley’s hand as he did.

While he snapped his fingers to fill the kettle with water and flipped the switch to turn it on, he snuck a peak back at the demon sitting on the couch a few meters away. Aziraphale couldn't stop the bubbling laugh that escaped him when he spotted Crowley tasting his own fingers where the angel had kissed them.

* * *

he's laughing at me but I have to know

I love his laugh

what the fuck is he talking about

cinnamon? like candies?

or like

fire? like Christmas?

like sweet rolls or like curry?

all i taste is

him

god, i know what he tastes like

god thank you thank you I know what he tastes like

vanilla icing, buttercream

angel cake

hah

summer strawberries, marshmallows

crepes in revolutionary france

sweet and frantic

i know what he tastes like

his flavor is still on my skin

on my temples, my jaw, my hair, my hands

sugar and spice

mixed together, it's the icing on cinnamon rolls

cinnamon? i taste like cinnamon?

he kept kissing my hands

i kept telling him not to

i love you for not listening, angel

snickerdoodles

“have i told you what you taste like” lay it on smooth, i’ve been a mess all night but maybe i can salvage this

“yes, my dear, you talk in your sleep”

fuck

is that endearing to him or just annoying

i think he's making tea

he's smiling

that's a good sign

i can still taste his sweetness on my mouth

he's definitely making tea

a londoner’s penicillin

will you sweeten it for me, my angel

stir the brew with your frosting fingertips

kiss me between sips with your truffle tongue

i didn't say that out loud, did i?

i'm a fucking mess

who am i kidding

i’ve been a wreck since eden

i was created as a desperate needy thing

“i gave it away”

he gave the damn sword away

how was I supposed to survive that

i wish i could say, nothing he has done since then could surprise me

but

going to france during the revolution because he got

peckish

almost getting discorporated by Nazis

learning the gavotte

i watched him do that once

i had elected not to join in

fucking idiot

how was i meant to know that the first angel who learned to dance would pick the one where you have to kiss all the other dancers

i spent a few hundred years being jealous of everyone who had been in that room

long after they'd all died

all of those oblivious mortals who were lucky enough to brush against his saccharine touch

i didn't know then

i know now

i, crowley, demon from darkest hell, tempter of eve, creator of selfies

know what

the principality Aziraphale, angel of the East gate, keeper of the flaming sword

hah

tastes

like

“sugar?”

* * *

Crowley had been staring down at his hands, and his head snapped up at the sound of Aziraphale's voice. The angel stood patiently, his chest warming with fondness to match the heat of the drink in his hands. A smile began to bloom at the sight of his beloved seeming to perks up.

“W-what?”

“Sugar, for the tea, dear?”

“Oh, no no, thank you, angel.” He placed the saucer on the side table and handed the cup, gently, to Crowley.

Aziraphale wrapped both of the demons hands around the cup and left his own fingers lingering. He could drink it of course if he wanted to, but, mostly, he wanted to make sure he felt the warmth. That he felt safe.

Crowley brought the tea to his lips and took a careful sip as the angel lowered himself onto the right side of the sofa. He listened to the sound of his breathing, clear and steady, the sound of him swallowing his drink, the crackle of a few lit candles, the patter of rain against the street outside.

“Zira?” Crowley said, with a slight chuckle. He'd been staring at his throat, watching the movement of his neck as the demon swallowed.

“Sorry, sorry...” Aziraphale flushed and tried to hide his schoolgirl smile. Someday he'd be able to handle Crowley’s angles, his textures and colors, his movements and sounds, without getting flustered. But that was not today.

When he gathered the courage to turn his face back toward his love, he noticed the demon's eyelids looking heavy. He was blinking rapidly and occasionally shaking his head, like he was trying to shake water out of his hair.

“You’re exhausted.”

“No, no, I'm fine, I told you.” He responded. Too quickly.

“Crowley…”

“I said, I'm fine.”

“And I'm telling you, you're not.” He tried his hardest to not sound scolding. Based on Crowley’s expression, he wasn't sure he had succeeded. “I just want you to rest.”

“I can rest without sleeping.”

“It'll be alright-”

“You don't know that, angel.”

“Even if you do have a nightmare, you'll...you'll wake up after. It'll be over-”

“You've never had one, have you?” Crowley’s jaw was clenched so tightly, every twitch made the snake on his face seem to squirm.

“I don't mean to upset you.”

“Have you  _ ever _ . Had. A nightmare?”

Silence. Aziraphale chewed his lip, stewing over how to respond.

“Answer me.”

“No. I haven't.” He understood the concept. He knew what they did to Crowley. Why did this matter.

“You don't get what it's like.” His entire body was clenched. This was the antithesis of everything the angel had wanted. He'd wanted to help. “I can't...I don't know what's real...they're fucking painful, Aziraphale. I-please ...please, don't make me do this.”

“Careful, love.” He reached out and took the demon’s hands in his own shaking grasp. The teacup was beginning to creak, as though the tension of Crowley’s panic was about to shatter it.

Aziraphale felt the sting of tears begin to prickle at his eyes and quickly blinked them away. ‘Not the time.’ he thought to himself.

“This won't go away.” he began after a deep breath and a long pause, “You’ll just get more and more tired, and the state you'll be in when you finally fall asleep...it's only going to make the nightmares worse.”

Crowley sat quietly, his golden eyes flittering back and forth.

“I just-” Aziraphale began.

“I know. You just want to help.” He sighed, placing his right hand on the angel’s thigh. Zira could feel the warmth of the tea that had transferred to his palm. “Fine, angel, fine. But if I have a nightmare…” 

He smiled fondly at the long threatening finger Crowley brandished at him.

“I don't know what I'll do, but you won't like it.” The demon leaned back against the sofa, draping his left leg over the arm. “Just let me finish my tea first.” Crowley snapped his fingers and the liquid in the cup raised slightly, the smell of rum prickled at Aziraphale's nose.

“Must you sit like that?” He asked, exasperated. “Is that even comfortable?”

“Listen, you can either force me to sleep,  _ against my will _ , or you can criticise my posture. You cannot do both.”

“You are impossible.”

“And yet, you like me anyway.”

“Oh, I don't like you at all.” Aziraphale quipped, as he bent down and kissed Crowley’s shoulder. “I  _ love  _ you but I certainly don't  _ like  _ you.”

He smiled, and the angel's chest felt like someone was slowly inflating a helium balloon between his ribs. Surely soon, he would burst.

The principality reached up and took Crowley’s chin in his hands, pulling him in for a kiss. He would never get used to the feeling of sparklers against his skin, or prickling heat dancing across his mouth. He felt the demon part his lips and taste him.

Aziraphale opened his eyes as Crowley pulled away to see him taking another sip from his teacup.

“What do you know, perfectly sweetened.”

“Oh, for heaven's sake.” He stood and began unbuttoning his vest, “Just finish your tea, you flirt.”

“And where are you going?”

“Nowhere, just getting into something more comfortable.”

“Oh, really now?”

“Hush.” The angel turned, casting an admonishing glance over his shoulder. He walked to the living area at the back and carefully hung his vest in the closet. It was mostly empty since he and Crowley had moved in together, but he still kept a few things here. Including one of his favorite sweaters.

It was far too modern, aesthetically, for his tastes. But it has felt too wonderful for him to resist. He pulled the garment over his head, flattening the plush fabric against his stomach with his palms. He sighed a little, delighting in the sensations, and pulling a volume from his desk as he made his way back to Crowley.

* * *

“look at you, you tease”

“what?”

“it's a joke, angel. how does ‘more comfortable’ for you, mean putting on more clothes?”

“i took the vest off!”

“and put on the fluffiest sweater i've ever seen.”

“you love when i wear this.”

“never said i didn't.”

“did...did you make yourself more tea?”

“no.”

technically true

“how many times have you refilled it with rum?”

“i’m...not sure”

definitely true

you'd think after 6000 years

i would know the direct translation of every one of his facial expressions

but sometimes i just can't look at him

he's too bright

“what are you reading?”

“sonnets. the rhythms help me sleep.”

oh. right. sleep.

fuck.

“do you want me to read them to you?”

more than anything

“sure”

“come here”

don't need to ask me twice

my head in his lap, my hands on his thighs

his hand in my hair

he has a fascination

i don't mind

every pass of his fingertips against my scalp

warm shivers down my spine

“no more be grieved at that which thou hast done,

roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud”

but most roses won't burn if dropped in a church

most silver fountains don't melt if holy water flows through them

but then again

most demons don't conspire with angels

or share a cottage with one

or fall in love with them

or have their love returned

“do i envy those jacks that nimble leap,

to kiss the tender inward of thy hand,

whilst my poor lips which should that harvest reap,

at the wood’s boldness by thee blushing stand”

he's speaking so quietly

only the consonants reach my ears

“o, learn to read what silent love hath writ,”

“to hear with eyes belongs to love’s fine wit”

his smile goes all the way to his eyes

brighter than the sun

i can't look for long

but i was made to withstand fire

maybe that's how i've lasted so long in his presence

he's a holy flame that the darkest waters could never put out

he's right

i should listen

i should sleep

“but when i sleep, in dreams they look on thee”

i cant do that again

can't lose him again

can't hear the way he screamed

but he's right

i need to sleep

“by looking on thee in the living day,

when in dead night, thy fair imperfect shade,

through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay?”

he'll be here when it's over

he'll sing to me when it's done

i’ll be his grateful audience for eternity

until the dying flashes of the sun


End file.
